


Beloved

by Warp5Complex_Archivist



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-03-01
Updated: 2006-03-01
Packaged: 2018-08-15 21:54:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8074057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Warp5Complex_Archivist/pseuds/Warp5Complex_Archivist
Summary: Jon and Trip come back together. But has anything really changed? (07/13/2004)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Kylie Lee, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Warp 5 Complex](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Warp_5_Complex), the software of which ceased to be maintained and created a security hazard. To make future maintenance and archive growth easier, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but I may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Warp 5 Complex collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Warp5Complex).

  
Author's notes: Spoilers, 1.05 "Unexpected," 2.24 "First Flight," 3.18 "Azati Prime," 3.21 "E2."  
  
I realize that in doing this I manage to piss off/depress just about everyone. But I never said this was going to be a happy story, and I've got two installments to go! Thanks to my betas who have waded through both the sadness and the random author insecurities with fighter's spirit. Next: we get to see what Malcolm thinks. This one probably won't be up as fast as they've been coming.  
  
Beta readers: Akin and Cha Oyese Tempest Thrain.  


* * *

> Fly me to the moon  
> Let me sing among the stars  
> Let me see what spring is like  
> On Jupiter and Mars
> 
> In other words, hold my hand  
> In other words, baby, kiss me
> 
> Fill my heart with song  
> Let me sing for evermore  
> You are all I long for  
> All I worship and adore
> 
> In other words, please be true  
> In other words, I love you
> 
> â€”Frank Sinatra, Fly Me to the Moon

* * *

I don't need the familiar gait or the preternatural tightening in my stomach to know that it's him. He's the only person that would come to find me here without comming me first.

I've been thinking a lot about the future. I haven't really done this in a long time. Odd for a man still in the middle of a temporal cold war. Sure, I can think about this vague future full of former crewmen that claim to be in a powerful far-reaching Starfleet and cloaked figures in a room where time bends. Yes, I can give speeches about securing a future for Earth, and thus humanity. But it's been a long time since I thought about _my_ future. I intended to die on Azati Prime, and from that moment on, I haven't had a future, as though the only reason I live on is to fulfill the destiny Daniels spoke of. And I suppose it's true. Without his intervention, I would undoubtedly be dead or tortured to the brink of death.

But, seeing a future play out before my eyes, I realized that, even trapped for a lifetime in the Expanse, there is life after the current age of darkness. Trip is the one that said this is a one-way ticket, but I've thought it all along. I've been living from one moment to the next, using the immensity of our task to drown out the reality that there might just be more to life than the success of this mission, even if the mission has to be my priority. If I think otherwise I don't think I can do what's necessary to complete it.

But it wasn't just the future; it was _him._ Trip and I always wanted children, though I've always wondered when we'd find the time to have them. The fact that he's younger than me meant that it would probably be him and a surrogate mother, unless we could track down the Xyrillians again. While I wasn't rushing to believe Lorian (life in the Expanse has left me paranoid), I have to admit that I saw all our late night fantasies of the happy family realized.

Lorian looked so much like Junior Tucker with that set jaw and charming callousness. He especially reminded me of that one late night conversation while Trip was in the house (supposedly readying the guest room for me). The night was hot and humid and the sky almost pitch black. We'd been listening in comfortable silence to the noises of the night and Trip and Lizzie's hysterical laughter floating out the bedroom window when he began, apropos of nothing.

'Jonathan,' Junior said, using the authority that everyone knew was there but never really saw when Mama Tucker was around to nag and fuss, 'if you ever hurt my boy, I'll shoot ya.' Then he smiled knowingly and walked back into the house, never to mention it again. I never told Trip that his dad knows about us, but that doesn't mean I'm not ashamed that I let 'ole Junior down - even if him shooting me is the least of my concerns at the moment.

It's strange: Lorian was the very embodiment of my failure. He reminded me of the failures of the past - how much I hurt Trip and how Junior would disapprove. He showed me a future world in which I failed to fix my mistakes; I heard the emotion in T'Pol's voice - they were a family, not just biological parents. But, most of all, he showed me a present in which I was incapable of fulfilling the mission for which I've sacrificed so much.

But he was also my savior, in a way. Lorian forced me to see what kind of example I was setting. He was going to steal my plasma injectors to make the rendezvous, just as I had stolen that warp coil. Somehow, seeing someone else with the weight of the world on his shoulders helped me put things into perspective. But that's not the most important thing he showed me: Lorian showed me that the future is not written; that it's never too late to redeem yourself.

I want to turn to face him, to share my revelations. I want to say I'm sorry. I want to promise him all I have left to give. I want to beg him to come back to me - to face the uncertain future by my side. I'm about to turn to face him, when I feel a familiar hand slides into mine - rough and greasy but warm and gentle as well. But there's a touch of ice to it - the cold bite of metal.

I turn to him in surprise. His eyes are shining. There's so much conflict there, and more than a touch of sorrow, but I can see the answer to the unanswered question: he still loves me. And he's wearing the ring. His hand releases mine, and he skims his fingers around my neck, fishing out the chain and putting the ring on my finger - I haven't worn the necklace since we left space dock, but he knows me well enough to know I'd be wearing it tonight.

Finally, his lips are pressed against mine. I feel alive again. But there are some depths that his love cannot thaw. I pull back, searching his features for an explanation. I didn't think love was enough anymore. "Why?" What have I done to deserve him back? What did I ever do to deserve him?

"Fly me to the moon," he whispers in my ear. I know the phrase: it's been like a secret code in our relationship. I said it to him when we watched the warp reactor power up for the first time, when I made my final check of Engineering before we left space dock, when the Vulcans got him so angry that he almost punched Ambassador Soval in the face, when I slipped the ring that bears the same phrase onto his finger, when we slow danced under the stars in Hawaii, when he was in a coma and I thought he might never wake, and a thousand other times when I couldn't say what I really wanted to.

"In other words, please be true," I argue, disbelieving.

"In other words, I love you," he counters in a dangerous falsetto that soon breaks down into laughter. I thought I'd hear him laugh like that again. I can feel it as a warmth spreading out from my core, until I'm laughing with him, grabbing him around the waist and dancing among the debris of this all-consuming fight.

I remember the first time we danced. Good old Frank was singing our song - though of course we didn't know it was our song then. We were celebrating the successful test flight of yet another prototype. I had just about given up on ever starting a relationship with him because he seemed as straight as they came. He asked me to dance as a joke, after having requested 'Fly me to the moon' in honor of our success. So we stumbled onto the dance floor, more than a little tipsy. The rest of the flight crew was either already passed out or busy laughing and cat-calling as we careened around theatrically. Then his eyes met mine, and he smiled this shy smile. I remember a sudden moment of sobriety as we snapped out of our playful fumbling in unison, somehow finding a proper step. I don't think anyone else noticed, but our eyes were locked. I still don't know exactly what it was about that moment, but I remember it as the moment I knew that we not only had a future - we had a future of the 'forever' variety.

I can't help but wonder about our song, however. Most of the time I tell myself that there's a separation between Captain Archer and Jonny. But, even though there is definitely a division, I know that the two are inexorably intertwined. That song is more than just a synonym for 'I love you;' it's a metaphor for our relationship. We started out mixed in with the wonder of exploration, and it has stayed that way. Coming to be here on Enterprise has been part of our life and our love. We've never been two men trying to carry out a relationship in the middle of a war. We began two officers that fell in love, and in all likelihood, we'll die two officers that love each other. It's strange that it's taken all this time for me to admit this.

We're rocking slowly now, hands roaming, with his head on my shoulder and my arms around his waist. We've danced this dance so many times before that it's become like one long dance with sections of life lived in-between songs. He doesn't say a word as he takes my hand and drags me back to my cabin. We don't need to speak; our memories and touches say it all. Some might accuse us of living in the past, but the present quickly fades into the web of memories that makes up what has been; how can they deny us this last simple solace?

* * *

He's lying curled against me, fingers tracing patterns through my chest hair, warm breath tickling my chin. "It's funny: I feel as though we're right back where we started."

"Back where we stared before I went down to Azati Prime or back where we started before the Expanse?" I stroke his back absently, still lost in the tired haze after a session of tender lovemaking.

"Both . . . Neither. I just seems as though we went through all that pain to come back to the same place." Trip has always been philosophical after sex - if he doesn't fall asleep first, of course.

"I don't think so."

"Why?"

"Because we're not who we used to be. Maybe we're better for having been tested this way."

"Love conquers all?" he quips with a smile. Trip is fond of overused and clich axioms, even when he knows they're not true. Still, I refuse to burst his bubble. I don't deserve him. He's done so much for me. The least I can do is let him be happy. I lean down and brush my lips against his, pouring as much tender caring as I can into the kiss. All my soul that I've left is reserved for him. I owe him so much. He came back to comfort me and hold me together through whatever life might decide to throw at us, even after all of the pain I've caused. I don't know if this is a debt I'm capable of repaying.

Lying here in his arms, I still can't help but feel dirty, disgusting. After all I've done, how can he still love me? I'm a monster, not the man he fell in love with. Even here, his hand stroking down my jaw, I know that we'll never get back to where we were. I'm capable of returning love, but not of loving. I don't have the right to love or the right to happiness. Even though I know I would freeze without the warmth of his nearness, I still feel so cold. I could still be dead and this could be hell - living with the one you love right beside you, kissing you, but unable to truly feel their touch.

I will redeem myself for my sins. I won't let anyone else suffer for me or take on my burdens the way I've forced Trip. From now on, Jonathan Archer will pay for his crimes in full. Even if I have to die in the process.


End file.
